


Light Dawns Over Grumpy Heads

by Trotzkopf



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bickering, Body Swap, Chocolate, Comedy, Dog - Freeform, Easter themed prompts, Fluff, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, RST, Romance, UST, various bigoted nobles in chapter 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14169084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: Easter vetvimes prompt fills, centred around the themes dawn (aka the reluctant bringer of light), renewal, beginnings, searching, and spring cleaning.The chapter titles are the prompts.





	1. “Do you still need this?”

“How did you get that?” Vetinari eyed the book the commander was holding like a hawk, his pulse quickening. 

“Found it. Amazing what people leave lying around,” Vimes said a little too jovially.

“In locked drawers in private rooms.”

“Really? Well, I don’t know about that. I’m not a big reader myself, but someone swore I’d find this one interesting. Shall we find out?”

The commander’s smile was downright unsettling, but maybe all was not lost if Vimes hadn’t read it yet. A small voice in the back of the Patrician’s head was sniggering, _“Yes, and hope springs eternal for the fools who believe in it.”_

Vetinari forced himself to smile back. “Commander, I’m sure someone is committing a crime out there. Off you go! You can leave that on my desk. I’ll make sure it’s discreetely returned to its owner.”

“What’s so special about this, then?” Vimes asked, casually tossing the book in the air.

“It’s not.”

“Alright.” Vimes went to the open window and drew his arm back.

“Commander!”

“Oh?”

“It’s a rare copy of the treatise on trading policies between the lost cities of Ocks and Boll. Please give it back.” Havelock rose out of his seat.

“Never heard of them.” Vimes casually flicked through the pages, all the while looking at Vetinari, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Strange, though, see here, it has HV engraved on the spine. Custom made, expensive stuff.”

Vetinari pressed his lips together as he walked around his desk, but Vimes kept his distance, matching the Patrician’s movements step for step until they were on opposite sides of the room.

“Commander, you may choose to play silly buggers with the enterprising lawbreakers in my city—“

“ _Your_ city?” Vimes scoffed, glancing at the book again. “What’s this?” Sam frowned, tilting the book.

“Sir Samuel,” Vetinari said so quietly, Vimes had to look up to make sure the Patrician’s lips were moving. “It’s rather personal and now if you’d be so good—“ He stretched out his hand.

Sam turned the book around. “That’s me.”

The Patrician said nothing. His hand balled into a fist and sank back down. He wasn’t prone to emotional reactions, but right now he’d have loved to scream a heartfelt “bugger” if it wouldn’t have been so terribly out of character. It wouldn’t do to upset the commander. After all the man had plenty to be confused about already.

“I can’t say I like art, but this looks just like me as well. So does this one,“ Vimes flicked a page. “And this one,” flick, “and this one,” flick, “and—“

With a sigh, Havelock leaned against the wall behind him. He tilted his head back and asked, “Would you believe me if I said I find drawing relaxing and your sourpuss face is easy to sketch?”

“No,” Sam replied, snapping the book shut and sauntering right up into Vetinari’s personal space. If he was upset, he kept it well hidden, or maybe this was just the calm before the storm.

This close the Patrician could make out flecks of amber in the commander’s eyes which he had never noticed before, but would now of course see every time he looked at him.

“How did you get this?” Vetinari asked again. His secret was already out in the open, but it would be nice to know who, and how, and why, so he could retaliate without prejudice.

“I was telling the truth. It was just lying on my desk in the office with a note saying I would find it interesting.”

Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “So you did read it before you came here.”

“Of course I did.”

Of course he did. Vetinari sighed again. As if the world needed another piece of evidence that hope was a cruel and unforgiving mistress.

“But before you go and push people into the scorpion pit, take a look at this.”

Vimes pulled his notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Vetinari who carefully accepted it. With knitted brows, he slowly opened the cover, all the while casting glances at the commander.

The Patrician flicked through the pages while Vimes said. “I dropped it on the stairs here in the palace a couple of days ago. Someone - I won’t say who - caught up with me on the bridge and handed it back.”

Most of the pages were covered in scribbles in Sam’s terrible handwriting. Some pages were full of circles with words in them and lines connecting them like a mad version of naughts and crosses.

However, hidden between the last few pages were doodles. Not like the artful renderings Vetinari had produced but rough sketches. Of him. Some were clearly intended to mock and wouldn’t have been out of place in the Times’ cartoon section, but a lot of them were just studies of his profile, or his eyes, his lips.

It was the last drawing that caught his attention. It was clearly him and another person in a tight embrace.

Vetinari’s head snapped up. Sam’s cheeks were flushed, but he met Havelock’s gaze without hesitation.

“I thought you didn’t care for drawings?”

Vimes shrugged. “Maybe not, but I tend to jot down what’s on my mind.”

A moment later both books landed on the floor. Havelock pulled while Sam pushed him into the wall, lips moving against it each other.

When they came up for air, Havelock asked, “Would you say this was a good example of life imitating art?”

Later that day, Havelock took the opportunity to draw Sam again. Only this time not from memory because that wasn’t necessary. All he had to do was look next to him where the commander was sleeping soundly, looking relaxed and happy for a change. It was a good look on him.

The End


	2. “Welcome to a new world”

The first thing Havelock noticed when he woke up was, this was not his bedroom. The ceiling was all wrong. The mattress was too soft and surely no-one needed that many pillows.

The second thing he noticed was, there was another person in the room with him. In the same bed. They snored. Loudly.

It was almost certainly a good thing Vetinari’s mind tended to focus on the pragmatic aspects of life because right now asking silly questions like, “What the hell is going on?” out loud with an unknown - probably - human being in the room didn’t sound very productive and potentially dangerous.

He slithered out of bed and crouched on the surprisingly soft carpet. It was still quite dark in the room, but he could make out another door on the opposite wall. He crept across the room and slipped out.

The new room turned out to be a bathroom. The first light of dawn filtered in through the opaque window. Vetinari unlatched and opened it. He could make out a garden and various other buildings which belonged to the same estate. He sniffed.

Scoone Avenue? He sniffed again. The unmistakable aroma of swamp dragons assaulted his olfactory system. Yes, Scoone Avenue. 

The fact that he was apparently in Commander Vimes’ house relaxed him a little, however, the fact that he could not recall how he had got here, did not. And it didn’t explain why he was sharing a bed with…

A candle and matches were on a little table next to the door. Havelock decided to light it and go back into the bedroom.

When he entered, Lady Sybil was sitting in bed yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“Sam?”

“I’m afraid not,” Havelock replied and flinched.

“What?” Sybil asked.

“What?” Havelock agreed. Someone was talking and he was almost sure it was him, but he sounded like—

“Sam, it’s too early to be silly. Come back to bed.”

“Please excuse me,” Havelock replied and darted back into the bathroom. He locked the door behind him for good measure.

There was a full length mirror fixed to the wall. Vetinari approached it, and stopped, and stared.

“Oh dear!”

*~*

Sam Vimes woke from a fast fading dream about demanding lips and a hand on his…

Ah - apparently, the dream had partially affected the here and now. Head still foggy and half asleep, Sam listened for the sound of his wife’s breathing. Alas, all was quiet which meant he was alone and would therefore have to take matters into his own hand.

With closed eyes and one hand wormed under his nightshirt, he began to chase the dream again. You couldn’t help who you wanted when you were asleep and so Sam refused to feel ashamed that he came, biting his lower lip, thinking about blue eyes and a hard body moving on top of him, long fingers wrapped around his cock.

After a few minutes, Sam chuckled as he wiped his hand on his nightshirt. “Weird, I can almost smell the bastard.”

“Who said that?” Vimes was suddenly completely awake, sitting up and trying to make out the other person he had heard. It had almost sounded like Vetinari. But that was impossible!

“Cut the crap, who is this?”

Sam’s chin sagged.

…No.

No!

He jumped out of bed. The carpet felt all wrong. Disorientated, he staggered around the room until he finally found the curtains. He ripped them open and blinked against the light.

When his vision returned, he saw that he was most definitely not in his bedroom, though, he recognised the ugly, green wallpaper.

“How the hell did I end up here?”

There it was again. They were his words, but they sounded like _him_. 

He spotted the mirror and hesitated. What if it was true? What if he…He snarled and strode until he could look at his reflection.

“Bugger!”

*~*

Havelock had decided against alerting Lady Sybil to the present state of affairs because he had no idea how it had happened and didn’t want to unduly upset his friend until he had more information. As with so many other things in his life, full disclosure was on a need to know basis.

She had quite readily accepted his explanation that he was feeling worried about a case and needed to see his lordship straight away.

“Of course, I’ll get your uniform ready.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. I’ll wear plain clothes.”

She frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re quite well? Anyway, I insist.”

For the first time, Havelock fully understood why stubborn, angry, anti-authoritarian Vimes found it impossible to disobey his wife. She had a certain demeanour that rendered even thoughts of resistance quite impossible.

Maybe he should offer her a job.

She chatted while she pulled out clothes out of various cupboards and drawers.

“At least have a shower and a shave, Sam!” She cried when he was about to reach for the underwear.

“Why? It’s not as if he’s going to get close enough to notice.” That sounded like a Vimes sentence in his head. He was rather proud of it.

“Sam!”

“He won’t care, trust me. Besides I hate the bastard. If I can’t arrest him, at least let me be unkempt in his presence. It’s a good show of civil disobedience.”

Sybil dropped the shirt she had chosen on the bed and shook her head. “I don’t know what got into you this morning. You’re clearly not yourself.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea,” muttered Havelock under his breath. It still felt incredibly strange to hear Sam’s voice coming out of his mouth - or at least out of the mouth that was currently operated by his mind.

She threw a towel at him. “Maybe the shower will help. Now off you go.”

He grunted when she smacked his bottom and shoved him toward the bathroom where he tried not to think too hard about who usually inhabited the body he was touching quite intimately, albeit just to clean it. This never works of course, especially not when said inhabitant played a signifiant role in various erotic fantasies he occasionally indulged in.

Havelock opened his eyes and blinked the water away. He gazed downwards.

“Down boy!”

It never works.

He also couldn’t walk around like this. With a sigh and definitely not looking at what he was doing, Havelock made sure he would be fit for company and, most likely, also much more relaxed, at least for a little while.

When he emerged with a towel wrapped around his hips, Sybil was nowhere to be seen. He dressed quickly and briefly contemplated climbing out of the window but then decided against it. It was still early. People would be going about their business. He could make it to the palace without running into too many citizens who might stop and ask for him - Commander Vimes.

Sybil intercepted him on the way to the front door. She pushed a mug of coffee into his hands. It smelled good, although he preferred his with milk whereas this one was black as night. He drank it anyway.

“You should wear plain clothes more often. It suits you.”

“Thank you. Now, I really must be off.”

She held out a small yellow box. “One for the road?”

Ah, one of his few indulgences. He loved chocolate and kept a stash of them in his desk drawer in the Oblong Office. He only touched them in absolute emergencies because they were bad for him.

But he was having a rather trying day.

The expensive chocolate truffle practically melted as soon as it touched his tongue. He took a deep, satisfying breath and nodded at Lady Sybil.

“Now, you better go see if Havelock can help solve your problem. He’s rather clever.”

Vetinari kept his face straight when he replied. “If you say so. I still think he’s a bastard and I can’t wait for the day I finally get to arrest him, for real this time.”

Sybil brushed some invisible lint off his shoulders. “Yes, dear. So you keep telling everyone, right before you defend and sing him praises.”

Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “I don’t do that, do I?”

“Uh-hn. The last person who was making derogatory comments about Havelock in front of you had to have stitches. You don’t usually resort to violence, but that snotty, little upstart had it coming. I still think you should tell Havelock how you feel about him.”

The sheer amount of new information concerning the man Vetinari was hopelessly in love with rendered him speechless. He resorted to blinking until he found his voice again.

“Excuse me, but aren’t we married?”

“Yes, Sam, and I told you I don’t mind. You said it yourself, I want you to be healthy so I can have a long and happy life with you. And if being with Havelock makes you happy then I don’t see how I could object. But you know all that because we’ve had this conversation about five times already. I just wish you’d pluck up the courage and tell him already.”

“But—“

“He loves you too.”

“How do you—“

She shoved him out of the front door. “Now go, and sort this mess out. It is a bit of a mess, isn’t it?”

“Yes, quite.” Havelock replied, still too shocked to form a more coherent response when the door closed in his face.

Well, how about that?

*~*

Sam sat behind the desk in the Oblong Office, dressed in just a charcoal coloured suit - he had refused to put on the robe - tapping his fingers on the wood, when his body walked inside in plain clothes and closed the door behind him.

Vimes stood up as if in trance and hobbled around the desk until he was within touching distance. His fingers itched to reach out, but he refrained from doing so.

“Sir?” Sam asked. It seemed logical, but he couldn’t be certain they had simply swapped bodies. There was always the possibility that more than the two of them were involved in whatever was going on.

“In your flesh, Sir Samuel.”

Vimes' shoulders sagged in relief. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“No, I was hoping you could shed some light on our situation,” Vetinari replied with his voice.

“Not a clue. Can I…?” He reached out, unable to contain the urge to touch any more, if only to confirm, yes, this was all real. Vetinari nodded.

“Ye gods, this is so bizarre.” Sam kept poking his own body until Vetinari raised an eyebrow which made Vimes snigger. “I don’t know how, but you still manage to look like you even in there.”

Vetinari let out a long, suffering sigh. Immediately, all mirth drained from Vimes’ face.

“Have you eaten _chocolate_?”

Taken aback by the question, Havelock blinked before he admitted it.

“Could you perhaps not wreck my body while you’re in there, thank you?”

“You’re one to talk, commander. What did you do to my leg?”

A weird expression crossed Vetinari’s face when he watched his own features go wooden which was such a Vimes’ thing to do.

“Why? Isn’t it always like this?”

Havelock narrowed his eyes. “No,” he said slowly. “Not quite that bad unless I’ve overextended myself.”

“Well, it is today.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Vimes replied a little too quickly.

“Have a care, commander.” It was so surreal, hearing Vetinari’s words, the way he stressed syllables, come out of his own mouth.

“Yeah, likewise.,” Sam mumbled back. “Don’t do anything weird while you’re in there.”

There was a flash of something in Vetinari’s eyes.

“You already did something, didn’t you?” Vimes growled.

“Certainly nothing stranger than what you did to my body. Ah - I’m right, I can see it in your eyes.”

“You’re bluffing!”

“Am I?”

“What did you do?”

“What did _you_ do?”

“Nothing!” They replied at the same time.

They stared at each other. Both too embarrassed to point out that the other was blushing.

Thankfully, the door opened and Mustrum Ridcully burst into the room.

“You sent for me, Havelock? Sam, good to see you!” The Archchancellor boomed.

“We need your help.” Vimes’ mouth said.

“Sounds serious. What can I do for you, commander?”

Vetinari’s body raised his hand, “I’m over here, Archchancellor.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

*~*

It took some time to explain the problem to Ridcully, in no small part because the man kept laughing at them, much to their mutual irritation. But once he had gotten his mind on the right track, he performed a few tests which made them sneeze and itch, among other things.

“I taste ham,” Vimes remarked at one point.

“Salami, I believe,” said Vetinari.

“Really? I was going for pepperoni,” Mustrum exclaimed. They glared at him.

“Kidding. Kidding of course. It’s a common side effect,” he explained. “Don’t worry about it.”

“And how, if I may ask, is this going to help us?” Vetinari enquired, his patience wearing thin.

The Archchancellor clicked his tongue. “It was a spell to detect rogue magic.”

“And?” asked Vimes.

“It’s a bit hard to explain.”

“Try!” They both said in unison. They exchanged a glance.

“What happened to you was indeed magical.”

“You don’t say,” Vimes replied dryly.

Undeterred, Mustrum continued, “But it wasn’t directed at you.”

Vetinari frowned. “You’re saying this was an accident?”

“Head of the class,” the Archchancellor beamed.

“I’m sorry, I don’t find this at all comforting,” Vimes chimed in.

“It might have something to do with the explosion last night.”

“What explosion?” Sam and Havelock asked with barely contained alarm.

“Oh, you know, _the_ explosion when the universe briefly ended. We believe a few students messed around in the library when the librarian was out and one of the more volatile tombs broke free. It infiltrated the High Energy building and collided with a—“

“No need to get technical. How much damage are we talking?” Vetinari asked sharply.

“A few concussed second-year students and whatever happened to you two so far. Stibbons assured me that spacetime snapped right back. No harm done.”

Vimes and Vetinari stared at Ridcully in a meaningful way. He stared right back.

The Patrician took a deep breath. “Can you fix us?”

“Oh, it should wear off by itself. These things have a half-life of about twelve hours.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Which means you should be back in three, two, one.”

There was a sort of gloink sensation, and suddenly, they were looking at each other again from inside their own bodies.

“There,” Ridcully smiled, smacking them both on the shoulder. “Now, was there anything else? If not, I’d like to go back. It’s surf and turf elevenses today.”

*~*

Once the Archchancellor was gone each man took stock of his own body. Vimes smacked his lips and wrinkled his nose while Havelock experimentally stretched his leg and grimaced.

“Seriously, Vimes, what did you do?” Vetinari asked through gritted teeth.

Sam scratched the back of his head. “I might’ve taken you for a run around the garden.”

“Why?”

“I was curious what you could do. You’re bloody fast, you know. That is until your leg gives out. That was less fun.” When he noticed the pained expression on Havelock’s face he added, “Sorry, sir.”

“Please call me Havelock.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say it feels wrong after the morning we’ve had to stand on formalities, Sir Samuel.”

“Sam,” Vimes corrected.

“Sam,” Havelock nodded, half sitting on the edge of his desk, trying to massage his aching thigh.

“Do you want me to…?” The question trailed off. The words hanging somewhat embarrassed in the air, but Vimes was still pointing at the leg. “I feel responsible.” He added in an attempt to explain himself.

They stared at each other for a few heartbeats, and suddenly, the conversation with Lady Sybil popped to the forefront in Havelock’s mind.

“Fine.” Vetinari agreed, bracing himself on the desk. He hissed when Sam started to touch him, but he seemed to know what he was doing. “You’re good at this.”

Vimes shrugged, eyes on the task. “I dare say I know your body pretty well by now.”

His head snapped up, hands momentarily stilled in mid-motion. He blushed furiously when their eyes met.

_He loves you too._

Without thinking, Vetinari leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sam’s who gasped in surprise, but didn’t pull away. When Havelock touched the back of Sam’s neck, Vimes moved until he was standing between Vetinari’s legs, his hands on the small of Havelock’s back, pulling him even closer. They moaned into the kiss when their lower bodies connected, the friction just shy of maddening.

Vetinari hummed into Sam’s mouth. “You taste good.”

“I taste like sodding chocolate,” Vimes mumbled against his lips.

Havelock pulled back a little. “You don’t like it?”

Sam made a face. “No, I hate the stuff.”

“Does Sybil know?”

Sam frowned. “What kind of a question is that? Of course, she does. She has half a dozen of those expensive, yellow boxes stashed around the house at any given time. Emergency rations, or so I’ve been told. She knows I won’t go near them.”

“I see. Please tell her the next boxes are on me.”

“Alright. Why?”

“No reason. No reason whatsoever. But your wife is a brilliant woman and I owe her rather a lot.”

“You do?”

He tightened his arms around Sam and kissed his forehead. “I do.”

The End


	3. “What *is* that?”

“And what can I do for you, your lordship?” Vimes asked, sitting behind his desk at Pseudopolis Yard. It was just after half past ten in the morning and he had been about to leave for his standing 11am with the Patrician. Evidently, he needn’t bother today.

The Patrician leaned on his cane and glanced around the room. “So this is where all the magic happens.”

“I hope not,” Vimes replied. “Look, can we cut to the chase? If you’re here, you must want something.”

Vetinari was the picture of innocent confusion when he asked, “Must I?”

Vimes rolled his eyes and sighed. “As far as I know, you’ve never bothered to come down here before and you’re not the type for a social visit. I’d have briefed you on ongoing investigations in about thirty minutes anyway, so what is it you want?”

The Patrician narrowed his eyes, taking in the commander’s scruffy appearance. Vimes always looked rumpled - it was a knack - but he seemed to have extra wrinkles this morning.

“You’ve been up all night?”

Vimes nodded. “We found two more bodies.”

“Let me guess, one of them is our elusive friend Mr Castor?”

The commander gave his lordship a look.

“Sometimes I wonder why we even bother with our 11am. You should count yourself lucky I’m used to you having access to classified information. Otherwise I’d have to take you into custody because, apart from my men, only the murderer and our key witness would have access to this information.”

“Key witness?” Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

There was a noise.

For a second, the Patrician looked nonplussed before he asked, “Did you just _growl_ at me, Vimes?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, who did?”

The commander scooted back, the chair scraping over the wooden floor. “The witness, sir.”

Something emerged from under Vimes’ desk. It was enormous and seemed to consist mainly of skin folds. At first, Vetinari thought it might be the Librarian because the creature had the same colour and hanging skin condition. But, whatever the thing was, walked rather than knuckled on four legs and had a long tail which made a slap-slap-slap sound like a butcher pounding meat when it hit the side of the desk with each wag.

The Patrician stared at the animal. It stared right back.

“Has your witness swallowed a shoe?” Vetinari asked.

“Not that I know of,” replied Vimes who had gotten out of his chair and leaned against the desk.

“Then, what’s that hanging out of its mouth if it’s not shoe laces?”

“Slobber, sir.” He shrugged. “Dogs do that. Shouldn’t you of all people know?”

“That’s a canine?”

“What? Of course, she is. What else would she be?”

“Oh, I don’t know - a mountain pony perhaps? If mountain pony’s wore oversized leathery coats and drooled.”

The men stared at the animal who looked from one to the other before she decided to pad over and give the Patrician a closer inspection. To his credit, Vetinari stayed calm and let the dog sniff him, but when she pressed her enormous muzzle into his crouch he took a hasty step backward.

“No, madam, that’s a little too forthright.” He said sternly. The dog cocked her head at him and wagged her tail faster.

Vimes’ hand covered his mouth for a moment before he said. “And here I thought you liked dogs.”

“Dogs? Yes. But I’m still not convinced she’s not some hitherto undiscovered species of horse, or possibly lion.” Vetinari still couldn’t wrench his eyes away from the animal who looked at him adoringly.

“So, you just came here to see her for yourself?”

Vetinari gave Vimes a blank look.

“You were told our witness was a dog and you couldn’t resist.”

The Patrician’s face remained impassive.

“Thinking about keeping her?” Vimes teased. “After the trial, she’s got nowhere to go at the moment.”

Vetinari sighed. “No. I admit I miss the companionship, but I fear the lady here would be enough company for a regiment.”

On cue, the dog whined and lay down on the floor, looking crestfallen which was saying something for a face consisting entirely of folds.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, madam,” Vetinari said softly. “I’m sure a home can be found. I’ll see to it personally. No, please, don’t get up— Vimes, a little help?”

Getting the dog off the Patrician would have happened faster, had the commander been able to stop laughing for half a minute. But the sight of Vetinari covered in drool and paw prints was just too precious.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I think our witness is a bit smitten with you,” Vimes chuckled. He helped the Patrician back on his feet. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Vetinari replied, trying in vain to brush dog hair and drool off his clothes, which only resulted in getting his hands covered in slobber. He grimaced.

Vimes pressed his lips together in order to try and suppress another outburst.

“No, go on. Laugh away,” Vetinari said with a wry grin. “She’s a bit too much, but I do love dogs.”

“I know,” Sam smirked.

The Patrician looked up and straight into Sam’s eyes when he said, “All my dogs.”

Very slowly the smirk morphed into a much softer smile. There was an almost imperceptible nod.

“Yes, I know,” Sam replied.

The look of surprise on Havelock’s face was quickly replaced by something akin to joy. It was subtle, and you really had to know him, but it was there. “Good.”

Sam agreed. “Yes, very good.”

The End


	4. “Yeah…that’s new.”

“Why not?” Vetinari asked in a perfectly reasonable tone which made it all the more infuriating. 

“Why not? Why not? Because you’re—” Vimes didn’t say, the Patrician, ruler of the city, tyrant, evil, a nob, a sodding bastard, or my employer. Although all would have been accurate in his book. What came actually out of his mouth, though, was, “—not my friend.”

Vetinari pursed his lips and looked thoughtful for a moment before he replied, “Be that as it may, and whether you like it or not, we are technically equals.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yours, I believe. Your valiant exploits have prevented a war. I’m sure you remember. It wasn’t that long ago.”

Vimes narrowed his eyes and snarled, “I liked you better when you were cuffed.”

Vetinari smiled. “Mh. Yes, that _was_ entertaining. But coming back to my original query, why do you find it so objectionable? Especially in the light of recent events.”

To his credit, the Patrician didn’t move a muscle to emphasise the last statement. He simply kept looking at Sam as if he’d casually mentioned the weather, and not alluded to the Disc moving, spine shattering shag they’d just had. Sam groaned and banged his forehead against Havelock’s chest.

“How did this happen?” Vimes mumbled into Vetinari’s skin which felt wonderful against his stubble covered chin. Dense muscles flexed under his touch. Long fingers combed through his hair as he licked across a nipple. There was a hiss when Sam took it between his teeth and gently pulled which went straight to his cock.

They were still sweaty and sticky, and for once, the Patrician didn’t look neatly controlled but rather wanton and relaxed, sprawled underneath Vimes, and yet somehow giving the impression he allowed Sam to pleasure him rather than being submissive. The bastard.

“Are you going to use sex form now on whenever you don’t want to answer my questions?” Havelock asked when Sam rolled his hips.

Vimes didn’t deign to reply and, instead, captured Vetinari’s lips, plunging his tongue deep into the man’s mouth. Had he but known, this was the best way to shut him up, he’d have bedded him years ago.

“Possessive,” Havelock gasped when Sam wormed this hand between their bodies, taking them both in hand.

“You’re one to talk,” Sam panted. He knew his neck would be one giant bruise in the morning. Thank goodness it was cold and he could wear a scarf without looking pretentious.

It became a battle of wills, of course it did, neither wanting to give in first.

“Come on,” Sam growled between clenched teeth.

“After you,” Havelock huffed, biting his lower lip.

A flash of inspiration struck, Vetinari must have seen it because he groaned. “Oh no, you wouldn’t…”

Sam grinned like a shark.

“Havelock.” 

Vetinari’s harsh panting when he came was the sweet sound of victory which pushed Sam over the edge as well.

“That was cheating, Sir Samuel,” Havelock remarked, still trying to catch his breath.

Vimes lifted his head and grinned. “You can call me Sam.”

“Are we friends now?”

Sam snorted. “Tsk. Not a chance.”

He took the sting out of the statement by turning his head and trailing soft kisses from Havelock’s chest to his neck. Briefly burying his nose in the crock of Vetinari’s neck he mumbled, “But we are something. Something new. Not sure what yet, but I think I like it.”

“As do I, Sam. As do I.”

The End


	5. “I agree under one condition: this is the last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knowledge of "Night Watch" taken for granted.

The man was a puzzle, a complication, and quite possibly a genius.

Havelock landed on the roof with a quiet clink when a tile shifted underneath his boot. He made a mental note to research cat paws. It was all very well when you could make people not see you, but the mirage popped like a soap bubble when your opponent could still hear you. Then again, it was all for naught when said opponent was a man who could sense a whole city through the sole of his boots.

Earlier today, Keel had seen him, of that he was certain. He had told his aunt otherwise, but Havelock had noticed the slight shift when the sergeant had figured out where he was, his whole body adjusting for the eventuality of an attack from his location.

Another tile shifted on the next roof. Havelock growled and added “a distraction” to the ever increasing list of things that could be attributed to one Sergeant John Keel.

“Looking for me?” A bored voice asked.

Havelock wheeled around, dagger in hand. His wrist was seized before he had finished moving. White, hot pain shot up his arm, the dagger fell and landed in the waiting palm of his attacker before the edge of his own blade was pressed against his throat.

“Well done,” Vetinari said calmly. “Who are you?”

“That’s my line. Lose the hood, kid.”

Kid? Havelock bristled. He was seventeen, not nine. On the other hand, he had been disarmed like a dilettante, maybe “kid” was more appropriate than he cared to admit.

“Very well,” he said out loud and slowly pulled the hood and scarf back. Even in the twilight, he could see Keel’s eyes fly open in surprise.

“You?” The blade vanished from his throat and the sergeant took a step back.

Vetinari narrowed his eyes. “Have we met?”

A comical expression crossed Keel’s face before he replied in the manner of a man who chose each word very carefully, “Unless you count the times you were stalking me, no, not y…really.”

“But you know who I am?”

“Havelock Vetinari. You’re what, sixteen, seventeen?”

“Nineteen.”

“And I’m sweet Fanny Adams.”

Vetinari had to bite the inside of his cheeks before he admitted, “Seventeen.”

Keel nodded as if he’d confirmed an already known fact. “Madam is your aunt, right?”

“You’re exceedingly well informed. Who is your employer?”

Keel cocked his head. “The law, sir.”

Sir? Was he mocking him or was it a reference to their different stations on the social ladder? The man was a puzzle.

“I meant who are you spying for? You’re too well trained to be a mere sergeant. And Rosie Palm said you’re used to having people under you.”

“So is she, what of it?”

Havelock made a face. That had been the remark of a thug. “Are you incapable of answering a straightforward question or do you just enjoy being obtuse?” Vetinari asked, he could feel the vein in his temple starting to throb. The man was giving him a headache.

To his surprise, Keel chuckled - a deep, rumbling sound, but strangely contagious. Havelock felt the corner’s of his mouth twitch despite the fact that he had no idea what the man found so amusing. Keel’s usually sourpuss face transformed into an oddly attractive maze of laughter lines. Havelock stifled a gasp. He was not _interested_ in the brute!

In an attempt to move on, Vetinari held out a gloved hand. Keel handed the dagger back without hesitation, obviously still amused. The blade vanished.

“So, do you come here often?” Havelock asked, still slightly irritated.

Keel’s laughter turned into a hacking cough when the man inhaled his own spit. “Pardon?” he wheezed.

Vetinari rolled his eyes. “We’re standing on the _roof_ of your abode.”

“Ah, for a second I thought— Whatever. Only when I expect company. You’re good, I give you that. But you have a long way to go if you don’t want people like me to notice you.” Havelock was about to ask who exactly those people were, but Keel continued with an enigmatic smile, “But I’ve a feeling you’ll get there. That is, if you stop sniffing after me.”

Havelock took a step forward. “Was that a threat?”

“No, a request, actually. I mean it, stop following me. Bad things are going to happen.”

Arrogance was the hallmark of the weak, but something about this sergeant was getting under his skin. “You’d be dead, if I hadn’t been looking out for you, _sir_.” He nearly growled the last word.

“I know, and I thank you for that. Doesn’t mean we’re even, though.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Look, this city is going to come unhinged any day now, and whether I want to or not, I’m going to be at the thick of it. Call it a hunch.”

Vetinari raised an eyebrow. How much did this man know? Not for the first time, he quietly wondered, _“Who are you John Keel?”_

Out loud, he said, “Let’s for a moment entertain the idea your hypothesis was true, wouldn’t you need any help you can get?”

Keel’s face was a storm cloud as he stepped closer. For a second, it looked as if he was going to seize Havelock’s shoulder but thought better of it. The man really was overruling his muscles moment by moment. Amazing.

“Listen to me, the brown stuff is going to hit the twirly thing and I don’t want you anywhere near it! Do you hear me?”

Vetinari’s chin sagged. Was Keel… _concerned_ for him?

“I’m an assassin,” he replied flatly.

This time Keel did reach for him. Havelock swatted his arms away. A flurry of movements followed. They were trading blows, but somehow Vetinari ended up with his back pressed against Keel’s chest, the man’s arms holding him tight.

Warm breath was tickling his ear when the sergeant hissed, “I will say this only one more time. Stay. Away. Trust me, Ankh-Morpork cannot afford to lose you. Stay away, and live.”

Later he would be embarrassed how his whole body shivered in the arms of a complete stranger. A stranger who had shown more concern for his welfare than any other man in his entire life. Unnecessary and misplaced concern maybe, but this infuriating, brutish watchman made him feel special - and not in the alienating way his peers and teachers used the term, but as someone who had worth beyond his title and assets.

He didn’t know how he knew this, but he was sure Keel didn’t care one wink for the fact that he - Havelock - was nobility or an assassin. If anything the sergeant would see those as marks against him. The mangy, little kid who worked as a spy for anyone who threw him a penny sprung to mind, and with an almost frightening clarity, Havelock understood that Keel measured people not by their de facto value but by their worth as fellow human beings. And from one human being to another, and for his very own enigmatic reasons, Keel wanted him to survive the coming revolution. It was…odd, and oddly touching.

Keel let him go. Vetinari opened his mouth when the sound of yet another angry mob drifted up from the direction of Treacle Mine Road.

The sergeant sighed. “I got to go.” But before he took a step toward the edge of the roof he stopped and, without turning around, said, “No.”

“Must I remind you what happened last time, sergeant?”

“You’re not going.”

“Why do you care?”

“Love.”

Havelock was grateful Keel had his back turned to him because he could feel heat shooting into his cheeks. “What?”

“I love…this city. And she’ll need you.”

So many questions were lining up inside Vetinari’s head. Several times Keel had made cryptic references that he was somehow important for the city, but had failed to mention how. Did he know about the plan? But that would very definitely put him in harm’s way and the sergeant appeared to be adamant to keep him out of it. Nothing about this man made any sense.

The breaking of glass echoed between the alleys.

“I’ve to—“

“I’ll stay on the roof.”

Keel’s shoulders sagged. “Fine. But under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“This is the last time.”

“You won’t see me again, sergeant. That’s a promise,” Havelock replied and felt faintly ill once the words had left his mouth. No-one had ever looked at him quite the way Keel did. No-one had looked and seen him, the real Havelock Vetinari.

As a rule, he didn’t have any exploitable vices, but Havelock felt it right to his core, he could grow addicted to this abrasive, complicated man. He’d have to think about that later. For now, he needed to make sure they would both live to see another day.

“Ha!” This time Keel looked over his shoulder. “Hold that thought, sir.”

And then he was gone.

The End


	6. “This is disgusting, throw it away”

“You can’t be serious, Havelock!” Lord Venturi shouted, banging his fist on the table.

Vetinari leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and stared back at the assembled faces around the Ratschamber. He sighed inwardly. This was going to be tedious and pointless. Granted, that was what committees were usually for, he did, however, make a mental note to tell Drumknott to take AOB off the next agenda. It was always the item when people started prattling on about trivial nonsense which made the meeting twice as along and four times as tedious. Better to cut it short while he still could.

“Marcus, I’m always serious. And if neither of you can bring forward a sound argument why this should be a matter for debate, I’m concluding the meeting. Next meeting—”

“It’s disgusting!” Lady Selachii hissed. She glared back at each and everyone, daring them to defy her. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re all thinking it!”

Havelock took a deep breath. Yes, he’d expected something like this. Although the city had moved with the times, certain prejudice was not only held but treasured by people like Mariette Selachii who held annual charity balls to raise funds for organisations such as the “Ankh-Morpork Traditional Family Values Preservation Society”. Vetinari understood this was quite difficult to schedule around Lord Selachii’s various appointments with his mistresses. No wonder she looked so harassed all the time.

A heavy silence settled over the room during which Vetinari simply met her enraged gaze with a cold one of his own. Predictably, she opened her mouth again.

“The ruler of our fair city openly consorting with the commander of the Watch. It’s just not done! You of all people have to set an example.”

“Oh, I rather think I am,” he replied sweetly.

She spluttered. “Even if we overlooked the fact that he’s a man. He’s a commoner from the Shades. I don’t care how many titles you throw at him. The Duke of Ankh is just a fancy name. He doesn’t even have the means to back it up since his divorce.”

After another awkward silence, Lord Rust cleared his throat. “Havelock, let’s be frank. Men of our station have always taken _discreete_ liberties,” he glanced at Lady Selachii, “once we’ve done our duty to our family. But you are openly—“

“Fascinating.”

“What is?”

“The implication that the act of producing heirs is akin to using the lavatory,” said Vetinari coldly, wishing Sam could have been here to see their outraged faces. He’d have found it entertaining.

Indignant cries of, “Now see here,” were quickly silenced with a wave of his hand.

“All I’ve heard so far is prejudice, which you’re all free to hold on to, of course. That’s your prerogative as citizens of Ankh-Morpork where we’re all equal before the law. Amazing, isn’t it? Alas, there are no laws prohibiting a relationship between consenting adults of any shape or form. And now, if you don’t have anything substantial to contribute—“

“That’s just it. People will talk!” Lady Selachii shrieked.

“For once, I agree with Mariette,” Lord Venturi nodded, although he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “This kind of news travels fast. We might be a modern city, but other cultures have certain _views_ about such matters. I - that is, we all here feel, it would be in the city’s best interest if you were to distance yourself from the commander.”

“Cultures where we have business interests?” Vetinari asked, a picture of innocent concern.

“Exactly!” Several people replied at once. One or two had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed about it.

“Oh dear,” Vetinari said, deadpan. “How rude of us not to take the wellbeing of your bank accounts into consideration. Yes, I see now, this is quite serious. Drumknott, please cancel the reception at the new Agatean embassy for the delegation from Hunghung. I’m sure the ambassador and his husband will understand. They’ll simply have to—”

“Hey now, let’s not do anything rash!” Lord Venturi interjected.

Amazing, thought Havelock. And people always thought only dwarfs were obsessed with gold.

Lord Rust coughed, “After all, we live in modern times. And I’ve always said, we mustn’t stand in the way of progress.”

They all stared at Lady Selachii who was rearranging the folds of her dress when she said, “I suppose it would be very uncivilised of us not to give them a proper welcome.”

“Capital. Drumknott cancel my last request. The Duke of Ankh and I will be at the reception as scheduled. I trust you’ll all attend?”

There was a grumbled chorus of yeses.

“Oh, and one more thing. I _am_ a tyrant. Please do remember this before you voice your opinions about the commander and my relationship ever again.”

Several people swallowed audibly.

“Very well, next meeting, 15th Grune.”

The door banged open and Commander Vimes marched in, flinging himself into the chair at the other end of the long table. He leaned to his right to glance past the axe he had embedded in the wood a long time ago and that Havelock had left there as a conversation piece.

“Sorry, I’m late, your lordship. Did I miss anything?”

Vetinari waved his hand, “The here assembled good citizens were so kind to share their opinion about our relationship with me.”

Vimes nodded. “And did you tell them to stick it where the sun never shines?”

There was a collective gasp.

“What do you think?” Vetinari replied, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Oh good, then let’s get on with it, shall we? I have traffic backed up to Hyde Park, a peace protest crowd to pacify and a couple of murderers to apprehend. I’d like to get it done before supper.”

“It’s roast pork with mash and peas, I believe,” said Vetinari.

“Excellent. Now, where were we?”

“We were just done.”

“Even better,” Vimes got up, saluted and strolled out of the room, leaving everyone sitting with their mouth open with the exception of Havelock, of course, who was hiding a besotted smile behind his hand.

Life was good.

The End


	7. “This is my favourite part"

“Can I talk to you, sir?” Vimes mumbled at the end of their daily morning meeting.

Vetinari looked left and right before he asked. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“In private?”

Vetinari stared at him for a few seconds before he slowly turned his head, giving Drumknott a quick nod. The secretary bowed and hurried out of the room. 

“Sam, you have my full attention, I suggest you do something with it,” the Patrician finally said after Vimes had just nervously twirled his helmet for two minutes.

They had gotten a lot closer over the past months to the point where they considered each other almost friends. Oh, Vimes, was still cursing Vetinari's name every chance he got, but, over time, animosity had slowly turned into something else. Something else was precisely the reason Sam was now standing here, tongue-tied and wishing a hole in the ground would open up and put him out of his misery. 

“I…” he put his helmet back on and saluted. “I’m sorry I've wasted your time. I’ll be on my way.”

He managed to open the door an inch before Vetinari’s hand slammed it shut again. For a moment, the Patrician’s warm breath was ghosting over his cheek before he stepped back and Sam dared to suck air into his lungs again. When he turned, the Patrician was right there.

Vimes avoided the cold, blue gaze by staring passed Vetinari's left ear. He took his helmet off again, leaning his back against the door for support. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing would come out.

In the end Havelock took pity on him and with a tilt of his chin beckoned Vimes to follow him out of the office and down the hallway to his private rooms. The door clicked shut behind them and Sam stood in the middle of Vetinari’s bedroom, still fiddling with his helmet until the Patrician snatched it out of his hand and put in on a small desk by the window.

“We’re alone. No-one will hear or disturb us. Now, tell me what’s going on,” Vetinari said when he turned to face Sam.

Vimes took a deep breath. “I’m…distracted. It’s starting to affect my performance at work.”

For a moment, Vetinari looked puzzled. “If that’s true, you’ve been hiding it very well, I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Well…uhm…”

“Ah. Is this related to why you’re lately sleeping at the yard as opposed to at home?”

Vimes rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

Vetinari nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Do I deduce correctly the situation is more complicated than a simple rocky patch in your marriage?”

Of course it’s more complicated, thought Vimes. I’m standing in your sodding bedroom.

Out loud he asked, “What makes you say that?”

“Hm,” Vetinari tilted his head, but said nothing.

Vimes rubbed his hands over his face. His whole body was vibrating with tension, he’d have gladly jumped out of his skin, just to get rid of this feeling of standing with his back against the cliff and in front of him was the abyss. Only one way left to go.

Sam hunched his shoulders and shuffled a few steps closer to where the Patrician was standing.

“You know how I always say you’re a bastard and I don’t like you very much.”

“Do you?” Vetinari raised an eyebrow.

Vimes gave him a look before he asked, “But, do you know I’m lying?”

Havelock narrowed his eyes, but there was a twitch around the corner of his mouth.

“Are you enjoying this?” Vimes growled.

Vetinari briefly covered his mouth with his hand.

“Are you sodding done? I’m trying to…damn it!” Sam cursed and closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists. Why was the bastard so—

Sam’s eyes flew open when Havelock’s lips rested against his in a simple kiss. It only lasted for a few heartbeats before the Patrician pulled back.

“I apologise. Do tell me if I’ve overstepped my bounds.”

Sam stood frozen in shock before he scrunched up his face and grabbed the front of Vetinari’s shirt.

“You bloody knew! How— Since when?”

Havelock lowered his face, the palm of his hand resting on Sam’s cheek. “For a while.”

Vimes used his hold to shove Vetinari toward the bed.

“I hate you so much.” Sam caught Havelock’s lower lip between his teeth and nipped him just shy of drawing blood while his hands started to work on the buttons on the Patrician’s clothes.

“So I’ve gathered,” Vetinari said fondly between kisses. “Just out of curiosity, what took you so long?”

Vimes lifted his head a fraction, “I was hoping it would pass.”

Havelock’s eyebrows shot into his hairline before he laughed.

“That’s not funny! It was bloody agony.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Vetinari’s whole body was shaking.

Vimes growled. “I’ll show you funny.”

Later on, Sam first thought it couldn’t get any better than spending the next half an hour or so to get Havelock to stop teasing and laughing; when chuckles turned to gasped and gasped to moans, being allowed to strip away the layers of control. But that was only until he was inside him, watching how the infuriating bastard came undone for him, that, Sam later decided, was definitely his favourite part.

The End


End file.
